It has been pointed out that a few times in this blog I have used the phrase "...can only be described as a totally indescribable..." Well, this is another one of those posts.
Friday night I was invited out by a few friends here, to an International Dance Party hosted by the Dutch contingent here on KAF. I wasn't really quite sure what to expect, but considering that I have done ZILCH in the way of personal fun and relaxation, I figured it was time to go out. Work and sleep be damned!
I was meeting the rest there, which was fine other than not knowing where "there" was save for a faint concept. No matter, as once I was within 200 meters I could hear the bass penetrating the dusty Kandahar air. Like a homing pigeon, I headed towards its origins. A large tent, indistinct from all the other tents around KAF, baring the group of people standing out side and a sign above the door - DUTCH CORNER. This was the place.
The first part that started my head into the eventual spiral of utter confusion and sensory overload was the bouncer at the door. Like every bar and club in California, two guys stood at the door looking over the patrons as they came and went. Only, they were not checking IDs or collecting cover - no weapons allowed. Luckily I had been made aware of this and was prepared.
Upon entering the vestibule of the large vinyl tent with its wooden floor, I could hear the music blaring and see lights pouring out from around the corner. I was not ready for what lay inside.
Turning the corner, a full discotech / rave / dance party was in progress. A stage with two DJs mixing beats and keeping the party going. A dance floor packed to the gills with people of all nationalities dancing and letting loose, some on raised platforms showing off their moves. Bright colorful lights, strobes, glow sticks, black lights... In a place where the only colors you see are various shades of tan, walking into a room that looks like the jumbo box of Crayola crayons exploded is a bit of a shock. I felt like Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz after the tornado. There were people walking around with bottles of beer, and a bar in the back with people bellied up to it. Come to find out the bar was selling near-beer, but from the bottles piled up on tables and clasped in hands - you wouldn't have known it.
It may be difficult to understand why I am taking the time to write all this. Bars and dancing and music are all things that seem so normal to most people. What you have to remember is that normal is a different beast out here. Carrying around weapons, running to bunkers during rocket attacks, shaking moon-dust out of your uniforms... that's normal out here. What I saw in that room Friday night was the furthest thing from normal you could possibly find out here. I didn't know what to do with myself, I spent a good 20 minutes just standing there looking about in a shocked state of awe; fascinated at the spectacle before me.
After linking up with my friends and choking down a near-beer (they're near palatable), and after the short-circuit in my brain cleared, life was good. I danced and laughed and enjoyed myself for hours - the first time I've had the chance in a long, long time. I met new people, drank a few near beers, and sweated my ass off in that tent. When it was finally time to leave, I stepped back into reality, with the dust and the tactical vehicles and the void of color as far as the eye could see.
A well needed break from this place, for all of us in that room. For one night, it was like we were home, surrounded by friends, not a care in the world. If you took out all the camouflage uniforms and added a few more girls, it could have been any bar or club in any city in the world. For a second, all this insanity that is around us didn't seem to matter anymore... And that second - well that was good enough.
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